


you won't remember

by Pan_with_no_plan



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Kinda, angst angst angst, drunk Bucky, foolish gay children, this is super short but I just needed to write it, tiny steeb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-09
Updated: 2018-05-09
Packaged: 2019-05-04 11:08:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14591724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pan_with_no_plan/pseuds/Pan_with_no_plan
Summary: In which Bucky drinks his feelings away and Steve wonders where his best friend went.(I put Best Friend in many speech marks)





	you won't remember

**Author's Note:**

> so I think I might make this into a series? Idk, I have a lot of ideas, probably stemming into present day.
> 
> Hope you enjoy, pls comment suggestions for improvement. 
> 
> *finger guns*

Steve is sitting on the creaking bed, sketching out details of an idea for his next piece, when the front door slams open jarringly, startling Steve out of his haze. He pads toward the entrance to the cramped flat in a few strides, bare feet against worn floorboards.

It's late. Steve's been up for hours longer than he should, wondering if he should just assume Bucky's shacked up somewhere with some dame, and that he won't be home until morning; that Steve should just climb under the covers and try to get some sleep.

But Bucky's home now, and by the sound of things, he's in a sorry state. He really _can't_ be going out every week or so and drinking the bar out, seeing as they can hardly afford the rent. Buck's stumbling though the front entrance, slurring curses and dropping his keys onto the floor. More curses.

When Steve rounds the hallway to face him, he can see that Bucky looks more wrecked than usual. His eves are glassy, sliding over Steve's face to settle somewhere ever his shoulder. The smell of cigarette smoke clings to him, and when Steve approaches carefully he catches the stench of alcohol on his breath.

Shirt crumpled and hanging halfway off his frame, with no jacket despite the winter weather - Steve was sure he'd gone out with one though. His khakis are stained with dirt, like he'd fallen over a few times trying to walk home. He stands, swaying. Hardly conscious of himself or his surroundings.

"Oh Buck..." Steve whispers. Bucky begins to smile, the corners of his mouth pulling up tightly, when a sob escapes his lips. All at once, tears are spilling from his eyes in waves, and he's leaning against the thin walls as his body is wracked with shakes.

"Bucky... Jesus Bucky, you're crying..."

" _Steeeve_." He makes a motion towards Steve, stumbling a few steps forwards along the study support of the wall. "Hey Stevie. I'm fiinne Stevie, I'm golden."

"Fuck, Bucky, where were you?"

"Out. I was thinking about-- I was out." He flaps his hands, cracked lips grinning as tears stream down in rivulets across the creases of his cheeks and drip off his chin.

Steve starts forwards once more, pulling him towards into their cramped bathroom down the hallway. "Let me help you get cleaned up--"

"No. No Stevie." Bucky's brain seems to catch up with him, and he plants a hand on Steve's shoulder. "I can... can do it myself."

"Bucky you're a wreck, I can--"

Bucky shoves him away, hands shaking and eyes unnaturally blank. " _NO_. Steve. Go back to sleep. S' too cold for ya out here. You'll catcha 'nother chill before the last one's even gone. I'm fine. I'm... I'm golden."

Steve follows his slinking steps anyway, dodges the weak shoves and muffled protests, scrubs Bucky's face and cleans the cuts and grazes he's somehow managed to acquire. He pulls off Bucky's scuffed up shoes and finds a relatively clean shirt for him to sleep in.

But the time Steve's satisfied, Bucky has fallen silent and sullen. He leans back, head thumping against the wooden cabinets. "Love ya Stevie..." It's barely a whisper.

"Bucky?"

His head slumps, catching Steve's eyes in a hazy frown. "Y' can't know how... how mucha..."

Steve looks down, jaw clenched. This has happened more than a few times now, always when Bucky's too drunk out of his mind to put one foot in front of the other. He never remembers the things he says to Steve, after, in the pale freshness of morning, and Steve knows better than to ask.

But still, those words echo in his mind. He wonders why they always seem to slip out though drunken ramblings, why they hover so heavily in the air between them.

He never asks. Even though he wants to, wants to reach out and catch Bucky's chin with his hands, hold him right and never let go. Find a place to hide in the darkness, wrapped beside him - safe and warm. Because if he ever allows himself to want someone as good as Bucky, Steve knows, he just knows that he'll be ripped from his grasp.

He's already been so lucky to have Bucky in his life. He doesn't deserve him, and Bucky doesn't deserve to go through the awkward apology of turning him down; slowly retreating out of Steve's life once more. It's just drunk rambling after all. Bucky never understands what he's doing, in the same way he spends every spare cent on cheap whiskey and crashes through into their home in the dark hours of the night, only to wake after a long sleep full of apologies and promises that he never can keep.

Steve sighs, begins to lead Bucky towards the bedroom. "Let's just get you under the covers, Buck."

But Bucky is less malleable now; resisting his guiding pull. "Steve! Stevie." Backing away slightly, he leans heavily against the thin wall. "Stevie... s... you can't know... I can't... you need to know... I need to know that you... that I..." A crease forms between his eyes, a look of confusion dawning over his face.

Steve finally succeeds in manoeuvring him into the bedroom, and sets Bucky down on the crumpled sheets."You won't remember. You never do, buck."

Bucky's eyes droop, body sagging with fatigue and drunken exhaustion. "I love... Stevie, I love..." He lays back, shirt riding up against his stomach, rough hands resting crossed above his chest, like a barrier against the world. He looks so soft, lying amongst the scratchy sheets and rock-hard mattress. Gentle. Vulnerable. Like he could melt into the heavy mattress at around him at a whisper of a touch, disappearing into sleep. He's nothing like the Bucky of wakefulness; full of charm and bashful resilience. Marching down the streets of Brooklyn with a dame on either arm.

No, in this moment he reminds Steve of when they were kids, too dumb to know any better than to run and keep running, never thinking of the consequences. Not like that much has changed, but they've both been hardened by the truth of the world, and it's unforgiving nature.

Bucky looks innocent, unchanged from the boy Steve used to know, who'd lie awake with him long into the early hours of the morning, whispering secrets under the sheets and pressing bony hands to the other's mouth to muffle their laughter.

Now the smiles Bucky gives Steve are more strained, and fall few and far between. Less jokes and fooling around, more late nights at the bar. Steve wishes he knew how to push the light back into his chest, to bring back their old jokes and late night sleepovers; wishes they could be dumb kids again.

Bucky's grumbling snores rise up from the bed as he drifts into sleep. Eyelids lightly closed, lips pressed together.

Maybe this time, Bucky can keep his promise, and maybe this time, they can start to rebuild that old life anew.

Because Steve knows, deep in his heart, that he's never leaving, no matter what.

Steve turns to head back to his own room, pausing at the door.

"... Love you too Buck."

And maybe, one day Steve will find the courage to say it to his face, when they're both conscious and sober.

Just maybe.

 


End file.
